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Verity scowled at the succinct note, quite irritated with James. That sensation had been lingering in her heart from last night! Even worse, it had been the most restless night, for she was unable to sleep, tormented with the thought of James marrying Lady Anna or someone else. Surely their friendship would change. No wife would abide the close bond which they’d formed.
“I cannot lose you,” she whispered softly, not understanding at all the wretched feelings inside her. With a sniff, she slowly opened the box, gingerly unfolding the clothes inside. Dark blue trousers with a matching tailcoat jacket, a gold waistcoat, white undershirt, and cravat. There was another box with black evening boots which were surprisingly her size and a dark brown wig.
She glanced at the note once more. James was taking her to the club. There was no other explanation. But why? And how had the dratted man thought she would be able to dress in these clothes? The doorknob to her room twisted and she narrowed her gaze. Verity had been very deliberate in her actions for the day, locking herself away into her room. Albert usually reached home
from a ball or his club at dawn, fell into bed, and woke at noon. She had filled her breakfast tray and taken it into her room, all with the intention of avoiding him. The patience or perhaps strength to deal with him after last night's farce was just not present. Her family was blind to her pain, and she no longer wished for them to see and understand it. Verity desperately wanted to leave, be in her own home, and start a loving family not shadowed by betrayal.
Albert had pounded on her door at about one in the afternoon, and she had ignored all his threats and remained in her room eating the last of the breakfast scones when she got hungry.
“Verity?”
It was her mother. But she could not trust that Albert was not with her. Verity made her way to the door. “Yes, Mamma?”
“I would like to speak with you, my dear. Albert has told me of what transpired last evening at Lady Middleton’s ball.”
Verity made no reply, quietly waited with her forehead pressed to the door.
“Albert was very wrong in trying to manipulate you to make amends with Lord Durham,” her mother said after a few moments.
Verity stiffened and stared at the door, almost wishing she could peer through it. She grasped the doorknob but did not open.
“Will you join me for tea?” Her mother asked.
It felt like an olive branch, and a lump formed in Verity’s throat. “Perhaps another time, mamma. My head aches.”
Her mother’s sigh traveled through the hardwood door. "Will you attend Lady Escott's ball tonight? Lord Stanhope called earlier, and I was forced to inform him you were not well. Verity, I do not like speaking through this door!"
She glanced back at the box on the bed and everything it represented. A scandalous club and night of rousing impropriety. A night of freedom. "I hope you have a great time, mamma. I shall do a spot of reading and then retire early."
Verity moved away from the door, counting down the hours until her brother and mother departed for their evening of amusement. She sat before her small writing desk, opened the drawer, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. It had been a while since she had written to Aunt Imogen, at least two weeks.
Dear Aunt Imogen,
The season progresses at an intolerably tedious pace. I find I am not overly enthused with making the social rounds with mamma and Albert. I miss the countryside. Inhaling the morning chill into my lungs, smelling the freshly mowed grass and your rose gardens. I dare admit that I even miss Vicar Pomeroy’s outrageous sermons on the sins of fornication. I dearly miss our long walks through the countryside and to the village. Aunt, I have met a man: One lord James Radcliffe, the Earl of Maschelly. He is wonderful, and I believe I am falling irrevocably in love with him…
Verity crossed out that bit, a surge of fright filling her heart. In love? She bit into her lower lip, wondering if the way he made her feel was truly love? She continued writing to her aunt, chuckling at the irritation her aunt would feel at that crossed out bit in the letter. Aunt Imogen would still be able to read what Verity had intended, but the fact she had moved onto other topics would drive her aunt into a curious frenzy.
A few hours later, her mother and brother departed jointly in the carriage. Verity who had not gone down for the dinner gong, now rang the bell for her maid and requested a tray and a bath. Her stomach rumbled embarrassingly, and a few minutes later a tray arrived, and she quickly consumed the delicious, but slightly cold meal.
Next, she completed her bath, and as her lady’s maid patted her shoulders dry with a soft towel, Verity said, “I will need your help in dressing quite wickedly for a masquerade ball, Lily.”
The young maid’s eyes widened then she bobbed with a quick smile. “Whatever you wish, lady Verity.”
“I would like to be assured of your confidence. My brother and mother do not know I am to attend this masquerade and I will go and be back before they arrive. I rely on you to help me keep this secret, Lily!” she whispered conspiratorially.
Lily smiled. “I am right sure I’ll not tell a soul. Not even my aunt. And I would never tell Lord Sutcliffe. None of us likes how he shouts at you, milady.” She gasped. “Forgive the impertinence, my lady. I spoke out of turn.”
Lily’s aunt was the head cook, and the two were quite close. “Thank you, Lily," Verity said with a kind smile. “I shall not forget your kindness, and you have not spoken out of turn. And I too do not like how Albert speaks to me.”
About fifteen minutes later, Verity’s breasts were carefully bound with strips of linen. She then dressed in the clothes, wig, hat, and boots James had delivered.
“Lady Verity,” Lily breathed. “You look quite the fancy gentleman. I wouldn’t know it was you if I passed you in the streets!”
She laughed. “That is the aim, Lily. And I shall be off.”
Verity added the cloak to conceal her appearance as she made her way down the stairs and through the back entrance. The coach waited near the mews, and she strolled over, confident she would not be recognized. Seeing her approach, the coachman hurriedly knocked down the steps, then gallantly assisted her into the equipage.
A warm, clean, masculine fragrance filled the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
